


your hands can bruise (but they don't)

by princelogical



Series: Sanders Sides Misc. Work [33]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On, POV Second Person, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princelogical/pseuds/princelogical
Summary: Logan feels like moving on and tastes like new beginnings. His voice drips with seriousness and sophistication, so infused with stern encouragement and calculated information, somehow so comforting. He’s nothing likehim. He’s careful and predictable. He’s the same; he’s a tree, standing strong and unyielding to the winds; he’s not an uncontrollable forest fire that you can’t tame no matter how hard you try.





	your hands can bruise (but they don't)

**Author's Note:**

> ((I’m lowkey super drowsy from the melatonin I took but I wanna finish this and post it or else I’ll lose my flow. This is really choppy. Consider it another experimental piece. My fingers feel like jelly. Anywho. Two stories in one night! Woohoo. Though it’s technically the next day since it’s like 12:00 am. Anyway. Here is it. An unnecessary happy and angsty Logince story told from my fave POV to overuse- 2nd person.))

Meeting Logan is like there’s some warm feeling in your belly, like the earth’s swooping around you but you feel a little settled somehow. It’s that feeling that presses you into the couch at the loud house party, closer into him- closer and safer. He’s solid. Comforting. A steady presence amongst the ever-rushing onslaught of waves that threaten to overwhelm you. 

He’s Christmas break; he’s the fireplace that sits in your living room and warms your soul when the cold threatens to consume you. When you’re scared and lonely and tired; he’s there. When your passion burns so bright then flickers out in a glorious demonstration of royal failure, he’s there and tells you, “Even the most creative and exceptional people experience burnout.”

Logan doesn’t scowl and laugh like _he_ did. He doesn’t say, “How the mighty fall.” He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t- He’s not-

He’s not him.

He’s a little distant sometimes. But he’s not cold. He gets a little angry sometimes but he doesn’t lash out at Roman. When and if he does, which is so rare it feels like never, he apologizes. 

A darker part of you wonders if it’s the calm before the storm. But that’s not quite fair, is it? Logan settles the nerves under your skin, the acid in your belly, and calms the pounding in your mind. Every time you kiss him you feel _those_ lips fade just the slightest bit more. There’s no barely controlled rage under Logan’s skin. 

It’s because of that that you let Logan get close, really close. You meet for coffee, talk about work. Find common interests and hobbies and pastimes and soon enough, you’re together, then you’re moving in with each other and you’ve somehow settled down, once again, and that terrifies and comforts you all at once somehow.

And you’re settled quite a lot now, aren’t you? You’re quite safe now, with him, aren’t you? And it feels good. Feels so nice. To be so safe. Virgil sees it in your eyes and the protective gaze dims with each time Logan throws his arm around you at a party and lets out his startled, slightly monotonic laugh, eyes crinkling. Every time he calls you it sinks in all the more- he calls, not to demand where you’re at, but to check to make sure you’re all right and _safe_ and that you have a way home.

Patton giggles every time he’s near and declares the two of them glasses buddies. He makes it his goal to make Logan laugh with his silly puns and goofy mannerisms. Logan holds Patton to his chest as you rub his back when Patton and his long term boyfriend break up. In private, Patton cups your face and smiles so gentle, so bright. 

“You two are an unstoppable force; a really good one. You complement each other, kiddo.”

And that’s nice to hear. It’s like rain hitting the pavement after a long drought. 

Logan feels like moving on and tastes like new beginnings. His voice drips with seriousness and sophistication, so infused with stern encouragement and calculated information, somehow so comforting. He’s nothing like _him_. He’s careful and predictable. He’s the same; he’s a tree, standing strong and unyielding to the winds; he’s not an uncontrollable forest fire that you can’t tame no matter how hard you try.

Logan is sex in the car after dinner, passionate and fierce. He’s stargazing on the lawn until he falls asleep against your chest. He’s long nights and tired eyes, typing up some logistic report you can’t bear to understand. He’s playful teasing that’s soft and not sharp. He’s sure. He’s sound. He’s just a little scared of his place, of his necessity. He’s lovely. He’s Logan. And Logan is _good_.

He takes your surprises in strides, though you see they shake him a little. But he appreciates them all the same. He never raises his hand to you. That shouldn’t feel weird but it does. But it feels good. When you eat a huge slice of strawberry cake and cry in your bed alone, when he comes home and catches you, there’s no conflict or screaming or name-calling, he’s worriedly holding you as you sob and snivel. Then you tell him. You open the door to your box of secrets, just a little. 

You tell him about him.

You tell him how he was cold. You tell him how he’d hold control like an iron grip. How he’d berate you for your passion. For being to loud. For moving too much. You tell him about dinners, full of lecturing and chiding and restricting and dieting and all the times he made you feel small, so very small, and insecure and unsafe. 

Logan doesn’t move. Then his thumbs swipe across your knuckles and he meets your eyes. 

He tells you about his experience with another him, another version of the same terrifying story. And by the end of it, you both are a little shaken, a little cold and scared, but you curl around each other and resolve to work. Keep working. Keep recovering. 

Keep living until _he_ doesn’t matter anymore.


End file.
